May 28th, 2006



unimag lists the different forms of birth control:


Just getting this one out of the way, really. It's not a form of contraception. No - don't argue. It isn't. It's cutting your nose off to spite your face, is what it is. I mean, yes, it will stop you procreating - but amputating your legs will stop you ever getting shin splints, but that's not a good idea, either. Moving swiftly on...

More here. Warning, he's got a very sick, twisted sense of humour, awww, but he's so cute when he's like this.
fuck up faerie

(no subject)

ginmar makes a post about how she doesn't care what feminists wear as long as they're feminists. mrsveteran agrees, and expands on the point:

Too bad there's not some kind of "Rabid Radical Feminist FAQ" where you can have things like,

"Q: Can I be a feminist and still wear makeup and cute sundresses?"

"A: Honey, nobody cares what the fuck you wear. We care more about what you think, WHETHER you think, and who you ARE and what you do. So wear Birkenstocks, shave your head, or get dressed up like the prom queen. This is all rather superficial, and while it's a reflection of societal expectations of women's value being related to their looks, we won't hold it against you if frilly things make you feel happy in some way.

Oh ...

But no Hello Kitty.

I mean, we have to draw the line somewhere."

Comment source.

imelci1024 rejoices that she has a bathtub, after waiting a year and a half:

Ode to a Bath Tub.
Porcelain of an odd green,
Finally, my body's clean.
It certainly took awhile,
your floor's not yet been cloaked in tile.
Whilst we battled with your pipes,
we bathed ourselves with only Wet Wipes.
Our fight is now (mostly) won,
and I have taken Bath Number One
The man will soon take Number Two,
and then he will be happy too.
Our bodies no longer drip with sweat.
That is, at least, right now, not yet.
For it comes too soon, in heat like this,
a body smell that is quite amiss.
And then to you, our Saviour Basin,
into your hold we shall be racin',
to wash away our sins and grime.
Well, not the sins; we're out of lime.
Our bodies clean, all bright and shiney,
with give you thanks in your room so tiny.
O Bath Tub, thou hast a dirty job;
duty calls at the turn of a knob
to wash away disgusting things
and listen as some poor fool sings.
Our thanks to you, oh tub of green,
for without you, we are not clean.
With your pipes, we battle still,
but at least the floor you do not fill...
with water.

(ETA QWP from here.)
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